


The Distribution of Power

by Gamma_Orionis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: worshipdarklord, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Power Play, Wordcount: 2000-5000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamma_Orionis/pseuds/Gamma_Orionis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellatrix was always the Dark Lord's most trusted servant. Perhaps a little too easily trusted. Written for worshipdarklord's Voldemort Fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distribution of Power

**Author's Note:**

> Written for worshipdarklord 2013 Prompt Fest, with the prompt "Behind every powerful man is a powerful woman. (bottom!Voldemort)"

The Dark Lord had made a mistake in his treatment of Bellatrix.

He had been aware even in the early days that he was making dangerous decisions about her. She had been a charming, bright-eyed young lady, eager to prove that she was as talented as any of the men that he had welcomed into the fold, and that her aristocratic upbringing had not hindered her magical talents. He was impressed by her femininity as much as by her skill and ruthlessness, and even at the time, he had been aware that he was allowing her more liberty than might be safe on account of her gender. Had she been a man, he never would have allowed her to speak as freely to him as she did, or have so much influence over him and his decisions. The other Death Eaters were required to accept his orders without complaint, but Bellatrix spoke back to him, questioned him, demanded to know his reasons and why he didn't do this or that. Looking back upon his choices, it would have been far wiser to nip her defiance in the bud and make it clear to her that she did not have power over him. But he had never done that. He had never refused to answer her questions, and he had certainly never told her that she was to follow his orders without argument.

The trouble, of course, was that he could not truthfully say that she didn't have any power over him.

He prided himself, at the very least, in being able to admit that to himself. It was better to be aware of his weaknesses than to pretend that he had none.

True to her nature - spoiled by a lifetime of doting family and adoring suitors - she could get anything that she wanted from him. He had not even denied her when she invited herself into his bed. Though he never told her that he wanted her for a mistress, she seemed to take it for granted that he would, and she was not wrong.

She surely thought of what she had done as  _seducing_  him. He preferred to consider it an allowance of pleasure. Why should he not have her? She was beautiful, after all, and he appreciated that her mind was as free of romantic notions as his was. Their nights together were often filled with discussion of war tactics as much as with lovemaking. It was a rare night that went by without Bellatrix proposing some unorthodox measure while they lay together, and it could not be a coincidence, he thought, that her ideas seemed so much more clever and well-thought-out when they were proposed in breathless sighs in the privacy of his bedchamber, and when she was pressed against him with her arms tight about his body. He would have considered this taking advantage of him when he was in a weakened state, but she always managed to make her case so well, and it was a rarity for her ides to fail. And so he did as she suggested in those intimate moments, thought of her as an advisor, whose word he could discount if ever she proposed something foolish, and avoided considering the possibility that he was falling prey to the same trap he had seen so many other men fall into: allowing women to have too much control over them, and that control being granted simply because they were women.

Those patterns of thought had served him well enough during his initial rise to power, but after his fall, the Dark Lord found himself considering matters in a different light. With so many hours - so many days, weeks, months,  _years_  - in which he could do nothing but think, his mind turned to Bellatrix time and again.

When he rose again - and he would rise, of that he was confident - he would make changes to his regime. Bellatrix would no longer be allowed to ply him with kisses, and he would no longer give her the opportunities to argue with him or act as if she was his intellectual equal. She would be no higher in his esteem than she would be if she were a man. As long as he was allowing another person to influence his decisions and tactics, he was reliant on someone else, and that simply would not do.

It was, for that reason, a pleasure and relief that it was not Bellatrix who came to his service at last, but that snivelling Pettigrew man, who the Dark Lord would certainly never grant any undue influence. It was mildly humiliating to be dependent on such a pathetic creature, but better to briefly depend upon him and be able to cast him aside after he had regained his body, rather than retaining some misplaced sense of duty, as he was sure he would have done with Bellatrix. It was an even greater relief that he was able to take some period of time between his resurrection and the breakout from Azkaban, in which he could re-establish his power without Bellatrix there to confuse matters. By the time she was free - and, for that matter, by the time that she was in any state to be involved in the Death Eaters' work - he had firmly established that he would no longer be granting any Death Eaters - including Bellatrix - the liberties that he had given them in the first war. After all, they were no longer fighting a straightforward war. There were other things to be considered now, besides the eradication of the Ministry of Magic and his installation as the indisputable leader of the Wizarding world. Those had been simple goals. But now, those were concerns that were secondary to the altogether-too-difficult-to-accomplish murder of Harry Potter.

Of course, it was only like Bellatrix to become as invested in that as she had ever been in their more traditional battles.

She pressed him in their private moments, questioned how he planned to kill Potter and why he had not done it yet. The fact that the boy was still at Hogwarts and under Dumbledore's protection meant nothing to her. Reminders of the magical protections on him meant even less.

"Why will you not let me do it?" she purred, in one of their private moments together – moments that the Dark Lord disliked, but found it impossible to completely avoid. Her hand flicked towards the table, where her dagger lay. "Let me kill him, my Lord. He could not survive me. He would not  _want_  to survive me." Her eyes flashed dangerously, and the soft purr in her voice was recognizable from times when he had given her Muggles to torture. He could very nearly hear her thoughts, and all of them involved the things that she would do to Harry Potter if he would give her the chance.

"He is mine," he told her sharply. "I have planned his death for fifteen years. I will not be denied it."

"But why be so theatrical?" She caught his chin in her hands and turned his head, forcing him to look at her. His hand twitched for his wand – it would have been so easy to make her let go of him, to remind her that, however things might seem or ever have seemed, he was the Dark Lord and she was only a Death Eater.

"Don't dare," she whispered, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. "You know that I'm right when I say that you oughtn't put yourself in danger just to be sure that the boy's death is poetic and appropriate. It will not matter how well you planned his downfall, if you meet yours first."

"Do you have so little faith in me, Bellatrix?"

She lifted one shoulder in a small, careless shrug. "I have faith in many aspects of your regime, my Lord. I most certainly have faith in your principles. You know this. But I have come to have far less faith in your tactics for dealing with the boy. You rose a year ago, and still he is alive."

"I have accomplished much in those that year," he told her sharply. "I have freed my finest Death Eaters, I have gained power beyond even what I had in the last war, and the Ministry of Magic is still so helpfully ignoring my return. I would hardly act as though this time has been wasted."

"But those are not the matters that concern you so much. The matter that concerns you is the boy's death, and that is the area in which you have failed."

"And what do you recommend, Bellatrix?" he demanded impatiently. "You tell me what aspects of my work have failed, or are failing, and never what you would do if you were in my place."

"Kill the boy. Do it simply and quickly. Tell all your followers to do it at any opportunity. Put a knife through his heart." Again, she reached out to caress her dagger. "His mother's sacrifice will not protect him from that."

"Surely you of all people understand why I should be reluctant to employ...  _Muggle_  methods." He knocked the dagger away from her, and it landed on the floor with a clatter. "They are unrefined. I will not kill him so crudely."

"You have tried so many times to ignore my advice, and what have you to show for it?" Bellatrix leaned close, so close that he could feel her hot breath against his cheek. "He is not dead. No matter how you try to justify that – with all your insistences that you have accomplished much else in the time since you have risen – the fact remains that you are refusing to follow my advice, and you are failing. And what accounts for this sudden change,  _my Lord_?" she added. "You were always eager to do as I advised in the past. And I am the only one of your Death Eaters who never mislead you."

"Watch your tongue, Bellatrix," he warned, but she was bold as ever.

"You need me," she breathed, her voice low and too sensual for the matter at hand, and she pressed her body close against his. "You have always needed me, and it will be worth nothing to you to deny it, even if you would so like to believe that I'm nothing but your mistress..."

"You are my mistress and a faithful Death Eater, and nothing more than that." His breath caught when she touched him, but the effect she had on him was not so great that he could not stop himself from showing the reaction. "It would serve you well to remember that you are not my equal and never will be. I have much use for you, and I do value your opinions, but–"

"But, always but..." Her lip curled. "You simply can't stand the notion that you need me, can you?"

"On the contrary, Bellatrix, you cannot stand the notion that I  _don't_."

"But that is untrue, my Lord," she said, brazen as ever. "If you do not need me, then send me away. Have me killed."

"Take care what suggestions you give me, Bellatrix."

"You never would," she told him, with certainty that she should not have had, and her fingers skimmed over the fastenings of his robes. "What would you be without me?"

He ordered her out then, with as much scorn and disgust as he could muster without betraying any of the real feelings that her question elicited from him. When she was gone – without argument, thankfully; she seemed aware that she had pushed him as much as she could – he paced the room, privately furious that she would say such a thing, and with such conviction.

Yes, he had been wrong to let her believe that she was so special, so particularly important to him. Someday he would find a woman to replace her. Someone who shared Bellatrix's qualities – all her qualities save for her disobedience.

And then he could be rid of her.

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
